Your answer is half groan, half growl, and you claw at his shoulders as much for purchase as to raise pretty violet welts on his skin. You're not interested in teasing him or making some kind of dance out of this, you just want to fuck. You've starved for him for weeks, and once on the living room floor wasn't enough to even take the edge off. Let him pin you if he wants, you're strong enough to buck up against him and make his spine whipcrack, make him throw his head back, bare his throat, make his mouth do that gorgeous soft thing it does when you've done something especially right -- okay, on second thought, you want more leverage. You pull him off balance by his horn and roll. And fall off the window seat. You lie on the carpet for a minute or two just sorting the confusion from the embarrassment from the horny. Also you have your coat flipped over your head, which is confusing at first. Once you've got your bearings, though, you strip off the coat (and your shirt, which is sweaty) and pad barefoot and silent out to the lounge, contemplating the best way to wake up your rival. Somewhat to the detriment of your 'sexy stalk and pounce' plan, however, it turns out the pale pals fell asleep without eating their dinner, the lusii got into the bags and scattered the stuff everywhere, and apparently the pillbug ceviche was a little too fresh, because the thing is trundling across your path leaving a trail of lime juice, its shell flecked with herbs.